Calculated Risks
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Rick doesn't have time to calculate the odds of survival or to weigh the pros and cons of this course of action. At this point, all he has to go on are instincts and orders, and for once, those two things really seem to be working in tandem.


Title: Calculated Risks

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: I am rather hopelessly addicted to this show and so I'm indulging my muse while there's still a show to love. Much thanks to geminigrl11 for the beta :) Remaining mistakes and silly typos are because I type too quickly and don't proof read well enough.

Warnings: There are some spoilers for various aired eps, but it's hard to say when exactly this takes place considering the random order of the eps being aired. But I'll say it seems to be before the events of "The Mole" and serves as a precursor to Rick/Adele.

Summary: Rick doesn't have time to calculate the odds of survival at this point or to weigh the pros and cons of this course of action. At this point, all he has to go on are instincts and orders, and for once, those two things really seem to be working in tandem.

-o-

When all of it is over, Rick walks into Langley and goes straight to Adele's office. He doesn't knock, doesn't wait to be let in. He brushes by her assistant and doesn't care who else tries to stop him.

Behind her desk, she's surprised.

Then, she's relieved. "You're alive," she says, almost like she doesn't believe it, almost like she might cry.

Rick tries to find the words. There aren't any.

Instead, he steps forward, moving around the desk. She sputters as she tries to speak, but he doesn't let her. He pulls her up with one hand and cups her face with another.

Adele's cheek is warm; her eyes are wet. Her mouth is open, as if ready to say something.

Rick doesn't wait to listen. He's waited long enough and he's played by the rules all his life. The ODS, this mission, this team has changed him in this: he knows now that some risks are worth taking. Not because they're safe or guaranteed to pan out, but because they just are.

Like helping someone in need. Like putting themselves on the line to take down a terrorist network. Like sticking by each other no matter what.

Like kissing the girl you might be able to fall in love with, right there, right then.

Rick doesn't hesitate anymore when he leans in, pressing his lips to hers and letting the moment linger.

-o-

In the beginning, it's one of Michael's former assets. He runs a trinket shop in Cairo. With recent upheaval, business has been slow but that doesn't mean there's not action.

"Members of a homegrown terrorist group have started pressuring him to supply them with legal documents so they can move in and out of the country without being picked up by international agencies," Michael explains.

Rick frowns. "Why would they assume he could do that?"

Michael's face is terse. "Before he settled down, he used to do paperwork for a lot of people," he explains. "That's how he became so valuable to me."

"But I take it our friend Mr. Ishak wanted a more peaceful retirement," Billy ventures, still lounged at his desk.

"I can't make you come with me," Michael continues. He's standing in the front of the office. "And this is by no means official."

Rick scoffs. "That seems to be pretty common around here."

Casey shrugs. "Helping out might not only keep him safe, but might net us a few terrorists."

"Who could link us back to various ties within the region," Billy continues. He inclines his head. "That might not be such a bad thing."

"I'm leaving tonight," Michael says.

Casey makes a face and gets to his feet. When he sees Rick staring at him, he shrugs again. "What? If I'm going to make a flight tonight, I'm going to have to pack," he says, rifling through his desk to collect a few things.

Billy is grinning. "Do you think we'll have time to stop and see the Pyramids?" he asks. "All the times I've been to the region, and I still haven't seen them except on postcards."

Really, this is something Rick has come to expect. Michael always has a plan, sometimes sanctioned, sometimes not, and while they're always good causes, Billy and Casey never seem to greet such plans with anything less than anticipation. It's impossible to tell for sure if this is merely because they truly enjoy enacting justice around the globe or if their years as a team has built such an implicit trust that they actually never second guess Michael's tactical prowess.

And Rick can't deny that it is pretty damn good tactical prowess. Impressive, even. If the entire group of them were more sane, he might feel more comfortable following them unquestioningly.

The problem is, they're not altogether sane and Rick's been through enough crazy situations to know that a little doubt is necessary. If only because no one else will say something and because every time he seems to trust this team blindly, it ends poorly for him.

"Do we have a cover?" Rick asks, hoping to sound more practical than skeptical.

Michael nods. "My alias is still good," he says. "When I was stationed there, I was serving as a business liaison for an oil company. With the recent revolution, our fresh cover story is that we're trying to reestablish our presence with new faces."

Billy nods with an enthusiastic twinkle in his eye. "Americans are known for their notable love affair with the liquid gold."

Casey grunts, closing his desk drawer. "And Egypt is a prime money making opportunity," he agrees, straightening his jacket. "It should work."

"We land, make contact with Ari in what appears to be a professional capacity," Michael continues on without missing a beat.

"Something his new terrorist friends might not take too kindly to," Billy observes with a slight tilt of his head.

"Yeah," Casey says shortly. "They come after us for infringing on their territory, we take them down. The asset is safe, we ship off a few terrorists to make the world a happier place. Can I go now so I can properly pack all my toiletries?"

Michael nods. "Flight's at seven."

Casey grimaces as he brushes past Michael. "I'll be there at five."

As Rick watches him go, he can't help but be a little confused, which seems to be an all too common state of mind for him in this job. For someone who works in intelligence, Rick often finds that he feels left in the dark.

Michael tosses a manila folder to Billy. "Make sure Higgins doesn't see those."

Billy offers him back a jovial salute. "What's the good of being a spy if you can't hide from your own paranoid employer?"

Michael returns it with a small, approving smile and promptly walks out. To where, Rick's not sure. What he is sure of is that he's probably never going to know.

Still, Rick stares after him, wondering if he missed something. "So that's that?" he asks, because he can think of a thousand questions to ask, a thousand details to plan, a thousand risks to properly articulate, assess, and avoid.

Billy looks at him blankly. "What more did you want?"

"I don't even know where to get my ticket," Rick says, although that's really the least of his problems.

Billy just smiles. "I imagine it's right here, along with our passports and working aliases," he says, lifting the manila envelope.

That figures, because it seems just like Michael to tell them this mission is optional and still have all their flights and aliases in order. Nothing is truly optional in the CIA except for the decision to stay employed versus look elsewhere for work.

And yet, Rick's still trying to make it parse. He's a planner, and when he chooses to execute something, he likes to have his bases properly covered. The ODS is a haphazard and slipshod organization-in so many ways, he understands why Higgins is dubious of them.

"But how did he know we'd agree?" Rick asks.

Billy gives him a disappointed look. "And what possible reason would we have to say no?"

"The fact that it's off the books and extremely dangerous?" Rick suggests in an all too reasonable manner, even though he knows that's not enough. Because as readily as he can understand Higgins' hesitation when it comes to the ODS, he can also understand the sheer satisfaction of finding a mission and getting it done without the hassles of red tape and bureaucracy.

There's no middle ground here, it seems. Staying on this team is a risk Rick has to take because the positives outweigh the negatives.

At that, Billy just smiles as he gets to his feet, because Rick suspects the Scot can see through just how meager Rick's objections are. As he moves around Rick's desk, he taps the envelope on it. "And that's just what makes it the perfect mission," he says. He turns at the doorway. "See you at seven?"

Billy doesn't stay for an answer. When the door shuts behind him, Rick finds himself alone at his desk, wondering if he's just made another big mistake in his short career at the CIA.

-o-

On the plane, Rick thinks. Casey sleeps; Billy seems to flirt with everything that moves. Michael studies a case file, and Rick just thinks. He knows he should sleep, but he can't turn his brain off. He's always been that way, and now that he has life-and-death situations to consider, it's harder than ever.

Ultimately, this is how it works. Rick can't be sure the entire CIA is like this, but he has the nagging sense that each department has its insane and inane idiosyncrasies. It's very simple: intelligence is never safe and simple, which Rick has always known. He just never realized it's completely impossible to make sense of as well. To be a spy is to accept that. Rick values the ends enough to make the means palatable.

And really, some parts of it make sense. Developing and protecting assets. Taking out the bad guys and saving the good guys. At the macro level, all of this is very straightforward.

But in the details, it's just a mess. There's layer upon layer of lies and duplicity and sometimes the people being tricked are the ones that authorize everything. Rick is okay with risks. But sometimes he doesn't even know how much he's risking or what he's risking it for or if it all goes wrong, if his own country will disown him in the aftermath.

That's disconcerting for Rick, and he thinks that's why he always pauses. Why he never trusts a mission completely. Why he always wants more information before he takes a chance. Because Rick likes risks, but only when they're calculated. He's spent his life measuring and weighing costs and benefits, tailoring the bottom line so he comes out ahead.

Now he's being asked to jump headlong into the unknown with no regard for anything except the abstract greater good. He's betting his life and his career on a wing and a prayer half the time, and Rick really does have to come to terms with that.

The good news is that with all the long plane rides, he has plenty of time to at least try.

The bad news is that it's still never quite enough.

-o-

On the ground in Egypt, Rick expects it to go wrong a lot quicker than it does. At first, he thinks they'll be picked up from their hotel, that Michael's aliases will be compromised. Then, he thinks that Ari will have given them up and the first meet will be an ambush.

So when things are still on track by the night of the set up, Rick is both surprised and terrified. He's never been particularly superstitious, but he is someone who knows how to look at the odds and gauge trends. During his time with the ODS, no mission has ever gone by the books or according to plan, which means the likelihood that this will be the first is simply not very high. He's just waiting for the other shoe to fall and hoping it doesn't involve people getting killed when it does.

"You need to calm down," Casey says. He sounds exasperated.

Rick has been trying to calm down, but the fact is, they're in an unsecured location with no backup, waiting for terrorists to come so they can negotiate a fake deal. "I just feel like there are holes in the plan," he says.

"What holes could there possibly be?" Billy asks. He's lounging in a chair behind the counter, feet propped up.

Rick lifts one hand and gestures aimlessly. "What if they don't say enough to incriminate themselves?"

"These are terrorists who think that they're looking at a competitor," Michael explains coolly from his spot by the window. "They're not exactly known for their subtlety in these types of negotiations."

"Not to mention the fact that if they were fully skilled in such things, they probably still wouldn't be an up and coming organization looking for their break into the big time," Billy points out.

Rick lifts his hand around, raising a shoulder this time. "Okay, what if they insist on taking us somewhere else to complete the negotiation?"

"Then we stall long enough to get the evidence and the bail," Casey says tiredly. He's leaned against the counter.

This time, Rick throws up both arms. "What if they just blow up the entire place kill us and destroy all the evidence?"

Michael glances at Casey, who eyes Billy, who shrugs. "That would put something of a damper on things," he says.

"Exactly!" Rick says. "Which is why I'm just not sure why we don't have backup!"

Billy look to Casey, who looks to Michael, who looks straight at him. "If this were a fully established group, they wouldn't have let us live his long," he says plainly, the notion of their brutal execution seemingly very unimportant to him. "Since they're not, they would rather leverage us than kill us, a fact we can use to our advantage."

There's some logic to that, but it's still ODS logic, and Rick can't afford to give up his healthy skepticism for their methods even if their means are always without fault. "There's still too much that could go wrong."

Michael is impassive and looks back out the window. Casey just looks bored. Billy has the decency to maintain eye contact, face twisting into a guarded criticism. "If there weren't risks, someone would have done it already," he points out.

"But if we had gone on the books-" Rick begins.

This earns him a look from all three.

"Then we never would have gotten funding," Casey tells him.

"And Ari would already be dead," Michael says.

"And there'd be a terrorist cell with everything they need to make a leap into the big leagues," Billy concludes.

Rick just gapes. "But-"

"But nothing," Michael says. "We went into the desert to free one man. We travelled in and out of North Korea to save a diplomat's wife. We infiltrated a Russian arm's dealer's inner circle. These were all risks. Most people probably wouldn't have survived. Your first day on the job, we threw you into a car with a Russian operative and almost got you killed. We never pretended this job was without risk."

It's honest and definitive and completely without apology.

"But they're risks we can handle," Casey tells him.

Billy inclines his head. "And they're risks that are most certainly worth it."

Rick opens his mouth again, looking for a protest. When he finds none, he settles miserably into a chair next to Billy and reminds himself again why a job with the CIA has always been his lifelong dream.

-o-

It actually goes pretty well.

Michael plays the businessman in over his head and the rest of the team backpedals and apologizes sufficiently once the terrorists spell out their threats with exact clarity.

It's sort of remarkable, really. How quick these terrorists are to explain what they're capable of, providing specific examples of their growing list of illegalities.

They've provided a most convenient list of their crimes, perfect for any lawyer to indict them without the blink of an eye.

In all, they've got their needed evidence, the Egyptian military is on its way to impede the exit, and the terrorists actually believe they're idiot businessmen from America.

For a moment, Rick thinks that maybe this will go just as well as Michael says it will.

And then the terrorists open fire and Rick realizes that all his calculations were right.

-o-

Rick has been in firefights before, at least to some degree. But when a hail of automatic gunfire erupts, it's all Rick can do to duck and cover.

Cowered beneath the counter, Rick takes some solace in the fact that the rest of the team is there, too.

At least, they're long enough to pull their weapons and start returning fire.

Still, it's chaos, and between the gunfire and the gunfire, Rick thinks he's going to die.

His mind goes to his mother, and he remembers to say his prayers.

Then, like a hand from heaven, someone is pulling him harshly across the floor. Rick comes to his senses enough to see the wall splintering above him promptly before he's shoved through a door and rolled unceremoniously down a tiled hallway.

He looks up and Michael is standing there.

"Are you hit?" he asks, and his voice is hard to hear over the barrage just beyond the door.

Rick shakes his head and blinks.

"Good," he says, reaching down and hauling Rick to his feet with one hand. Behind them, the door opens, just long enough for Casey and Billy to come crashing through. "Then it's time to run."

-o-

Rick runs.

He doesn't have time to calculate the odds of survival at this point or to weigh the pros and cons of this course of action. At this point, all he has to go on are instincts and orders, and for once, those two things really seem to be working in tandem.

Michael is right in front of him, and Rick doesn't have to look back to know that Casey and Billy are right on their heels. The sound of gunfire is following them, and as Michael hurls him around a corner, Rick is vaguely aware of bullets hitting the wall behind them.

They don't stop running, though. They aren't even bothering to return fire. It's just a sheer desperate flight, and Rick hopes that someone knows where they're going because at this point, he doesn't have a clue.

When another door opens in front of him, Rick doesn't hesitate to run through it. It's only when he's face to face with a dead end that he turns around to see where they are.

He's panting, and it takes a moment to get his bearings. When he finally catches his breath, he sees Michael at the door, one hand pressed firmly against it. Casey's bent over, hands on his knees, while Billy is sliding down, back pressed against the wall.

Outside, there's still yelling and gunfire, but it's muffled now, and it only takes Rick a moment longer to put together why.

They're in a vault. Small, confined, and, thankfully, secure.

-o-

Rick's gratitude is somewhat short lived.

While it is indeed a relief to not be at the mercy of terrorists with machine guns, he quickly comes to realize that they are cornered.

More than that, it doesn't seem like the bad guy seem to like the idea of just letting them go.

Gunfire continues to pelt the door and Rick finds himself flinching.

Michael keeps one hand on the door and then nods reassuringly. He looks back, directly at Rick. "Relax," he says. "This is five inches of reinforced steel."

"It'd take a freight train to barrel through there," Casey adds with a huff from his spot.

Rick looks from Casey then back to Michael, and if he's wide eyed, he really can't help it. "Why are we in a vault?" he asks.

"Would you rather still be out there?" Michael asks plainly.

The answer is obvious, but there are still so many questions that Rick can barely keep his head on straight to ask them. "But why is there even a vault here?"

"Ari was an asset for the CIA for nearly fifteen years," Michael explains. "He knows a thing or two about being safe and prepared."

"With a vault?" Rick demands, more than slightly incredulous at this point.

"It looks like a vault," Michael concedes.

"But think panic room," Casey adds, still panting.

Rick has to admit, that makes sense, especially in a line of work where bad guys with machine guns may or may not come after you.

But there's still one relevant point: "And you knew this was here?"

Michael shrugs. "It was part of the backup plan."

It's all Rick can do to keep his emotions in check. As it is, he rubs a hand over his face and turns away for a moment. He's looking at the cement walls and thinking about how he's not sure how to be grateful and irate all at once.

Turning back around, he opens his mouth, then closes it. He turns back around.

"It helps to breathe," Billy advises from the ground.

"And to remember that survival is paramount, no matter how it happens," Casey adds.

Rick spins back around, flushed with accusation. He takes a step forward, finger up. "You should have told me."

Michael is frustratingly impassive. "Should I tell you every contingency in my head?" he asks. "Maybe every possible strategy that occurs to me?"

Rick shakes his head, adamant. "This isn't like that, and you know it," he says. "This is a key part of the mission intelligence that you neglected to share with me."

"If it makes you feel better, lad," Billy chimes in, "I didn't know about it either."

"Me neither," Casey agrees. "I figured there was some possibility, given Ari's circumstances and history."

"That's true," Billy says, with a ready nod. "Everyone who works with Michael comes away a paranoid bastard. You can't help it."

It's supposed to be placating, and Rick thinks they may have a point. But he has a point, too. He's been kept in the dark, treated like luggage, and thrown into life or death situations with nothing more than a vague notion of doing the right thing. He's a part of this team, and he wants to feel like an equal part of it.

Rick takes another step forward, eyes zeroed in on Michael. "We should talk about these things," he says. "If I'm going to stay alive long enough to _not _be the new guy, I need to know about these things!" He throws his hands up. "I mean, come on, they're not even going to stop firing until we come out."

"You're always going to be the new guy," Michael tells him without missing a beat. "And this vault locks from the outside, only. There is no internal release."

"Then they'll just blow the door down," Rick says. "Enough fire power sustained over a period of time-it'll get there."

Michael nods. "But you're forgetting."

Rick shakes his head.

"The rest of the plan," Michael concludes.

As if on cue, the gunfire outside stops. There's a new cacophony of yelling, and Rick picks up on the Arabic orders of what sounds suspiciously like police officers making arrests.

"We never had to hold out forever," Michael reminds him. "Just long enough for the Egyptian military to take our friends into custody."

"Survival," Casey reminds him.

"Tactical genius," Billy amends with a nod.

For a moment, all Rick can do is stare. Finally, he nods to himself. "Right," he says. "Of course."

Michael seems to straighten. "Good."

Deflated, Rick suddenly feels exhausted. He looks around warily again, taking in the full extent of the vault. It's not very big, no more than an eight by eight space with plain cement walls and a few stacks of shelving pushed against one wall. There are minimal supplies there, a few boxes, but not much else.

The door behind Michael is secure, and the light bulb above them is naked.

"So," Rick finally says into the growing silence. "When are they going to let us out of here?"

Michael looks at Casey, who looks at Billy. Billy doesn't even have the heart to look at Rick this time.

Rick shakes his head. "What?"

Michael takes a breath. "Well, that's the thing," he says. "They won't."

"Our cover won't hold up under military questioning," Casey says.

"That's why we were going to exit before the military arrived," Billy reminds him.

"But they were shooting at the vault," Rick reminds them.

"Which will look like a robbery," Michael says. "They'll call Ari, but with the hours of processing and interrogation, that won't be until morning, at least."

Rick blinks and tries to listen to what no one is saying. "So you're saying we're stuck here."

"A right smart deduction," Billy says with what sounds like genuine pride.

Casey rolls his eyes. "Someday give the kid a star."

Michael just nods. "Until Ari comes and opens it from the outside," he says, "yes, we are completely stuck."

-o-

After being shot at by terrorists and forced into an enclosed vault on an unsanctioned mission with what could very well be a group of rogue operatives, Rick knows that discovering they're stuck in said vault with said team really isn't the worst outcome possible.

But when he tries to envision the scenarios that would be worse, he comes up a little blank, save for the variations that involve capture and decapitation.

At least with this, he thinks, it can't possibly get worse.

That is until Michael starts his assessments.

He starts with Casey, who has seemed fine to Rick until he sees Michael peel away his outer shirt to reveal the patch of blood on his arm. Michael assesses it then tears a strip of the outer shirt to tie around it.

"It's a flesh wound," Casey tells him needlessly.

Rick edges closer instinctively. "Does it hurt?"

Casey looks at him and shrugs. "A bullet ripped through my flesh," he says with a deadpanned look. "What do you think?"

In all, Casey is remarkably calm, especially since the sight of the blood sort of makes Rick want to panic.

Michael, however, seems unconcerned, instead turning his attention to a goose egg on Casey's forehead. "Did you run into a wall?" he quipped.

"Ha ha," Casey laughed dryly. "When I was taking cover, I hit the deck harder than anticipated. I'm fine."

Michael stares at him intently for a moment. "Looks like it could be a concussion."

Casey doesn't flinch. "I'm fine," he says. Then his voice drops and he nods over Michael's shoulder to the opposite wall. "Now go check on Billy."

Michael doesn't need to be told twice, and Rick finds it hard to turn away, instinctively drawn to protect those he calls his team, until he turns and catches a glimpse of Billy.

True, he's been talking and debating with his team for nearly five minutes since being trapped in here, but it's the first time he's stopped to look at his partners without obsessing on the situation. Billy's still slumped against the wall. What Rick had taken for relieved exhaustion, he can now see as weakness and pain.

Michael is by his side, quick and efficient. He doesn't even need to ask to find the wound. He rips Billy's pant leg, revealing a string of three bullet holes running from his calf to his thigh.

Billy winces a little, but still manages to smile. "Also flesh wounds," he says.

Michael doesn't contradict him, not even as he pulls a strip of the fabric to start tying around his leg.

Rick can only stare. "How did you even manage to run on it?"

Billy shrugs with a self-deprecating grin. Rick is fairly sure that it must be facade, but he realizes that he's never seen much beyond it to know for sure.

"It's fairly easy to be motivated through the pain when there's the risk of catching a few more bullets," Billy says, as nonchalantly as he can while he heaves a breath. He shrugs one shoulder and somehow manages to look dashing even when he's pale and sweaty. "Three in the leg is a vast improvement over one through the chest."

Michael is still working wordlessly, his face almost as pinched and pale as Billy's as he tightens the fabric into a makeshift tourniquet. Billy's face twists in pain, but he doesn't say anything in protest, leaving Rick to object for them all.

"But you've been shot three times!" Rick says, because someone has to take this seriously.

Billy's face scrunched up dismissively. "It's not that bad," he says.

Rick can only gape.

-o-

Michael is efficient in his work. When he's finished with the tourniquet, he sits back on his heels and nods at Billy with certainty. "That should do it," he says.

Rick looks at the leg and Michael's handiwork. The tourniquet seems to be doing something of its job, but the wounds are still seeping blood and Rick has studied enough first aid in his training to know that while these wounds don't have to be life threatening, they do require treatment.

Billy smiles, and even though his face looks drawn and tired, he still somehow manages to seem sincere. "It feels better," he says. He takes a breath and manages not to wince despite the fact that Rick can still see the pain in his eyes.

It's such a bald face lie that part of Rick wants to continue gaping. But Billy's so resolute, so sure, so reassuring, that Rick ultimately doesn't have the heart. He wishes he knew how Billy did it; how Billy can lie with unparalleled tenacity, how he can make people want to believe him against their better judgment.

It makes Rick envious for a moment, until he remembers that Billy is bleeding on the floor of a sealed vault, away from medical intervention and painkillers.

Even if he might understand Billy's nonchalance, it's harder to grasp Michael and Casey's. Casey has seemed to settle easily against the wall on the opposite side, keeping a wary eye on everything. Michael eases back to sit crossed legged on the floor, and he looks like he's hunkering down.

Still tense, Rick looks at him, skeptical. "Shouldn't we be thinking of a way out?"

Michael blinks at him. "There is no way out," he says.

"But Casey and Billy are shot," Rick reminds him.

Michael shrugs. "There is no way out," he says again.

Rick takes a breath and tries to retain some sense of calm. "Then we're just going to sit here?"

Michael nods.

"But we can't just sit here!" Rick explodes.

Casey sighs. Billy looks at him, almost sympathetic. Michael is impassive. "No matter when the police notify Ari of the incidence, he will come to check on us."

Rick's searching for some kind of answer to do justice to his frustration and his incredulity.

Billy offers him a smile. "Just think of it as a sleepover," he says. "Did you go camping as a lad?"

"We can even have a singalong," Casey notes with sarcasm.

"Or we can sleep," Michael says, practical as ever. "We just have to stay put and wait. Things will be fine in the morning."

Between Billy's ridiculous optimism and Casey's wry darkness, Michael's straightforward illogical logic was almost kind of comforting.

Rick sighed and looked at the cement ceiling and shook his head.

Almost.

-o-

No one sleeps or even makes a pretense at trying. Casey sits stiffly against the wall, one hand clutched over his bandage. Billy doesn't make such a show, and with his loose-limbed sprawl, he seems content to just rest as the night wears on.

Michael never seems to move but somehow ends up next to Casey and Billy in alternating turns. He's always saying something when he checks Casey's bandage and he's usually making a joke when he's feeling for the circulation in Billy's leg.

The three of them alternate with a rhythm they don't have to discuss, telling stories in equal turns. Billy laments his unattended dry cleaning; Casey explains that he hasn't needed to go to laundromat since 1989 thanks to an Italian woman who has been following him ever since.

If these things seem weird to Rick, Michael seems to take them in stride, though Rick notices that no one asks Michael to tell any stories. Which is probably good since Michael seems to have no stories he's willing to offer.

"What about you, Rick?" Billy asks, rolling his head over to look at him. "How do you handle laundry issues?"

It's almost a little surprising to be included. He's found himself unusually reticent throughout this entire ordeal. He's not sure if it's the blood no one's talking about or the vault no one seems concerned about or the fact that they may never get out of here alive.

"Ten to one, he does it himself," Casey says.

Billy narrows his eyes as he studies Rick. Then, he nods in agreement. "Dapper as he is, I imagine he puts quite a lot of time into it."

"But considering the meager salary he must be making, he couldn't afford more than the laundry room in his building," Casey concludes.

This speculation is especially annoying since it is entirely accurate. "I do my own starching, too," Rick adds.

"So that's why your collars are always so perfectly stiff," Billy muses. He looks earnest about this even though Rick gets the distinct sense that he's been mocked. "I'm impressed."

"Thank you," Rick says. Then he shakes his head. "But why are we talking about laundry?"

"Would you rather talk about cooking?" Billy asks. "It's been _years _since I turned on a stove."

"I do all my own cooking," Casey says with a shake of his head.

Rick tilts his head. "Really?"

Casey lifts his eyebrows. "You think I'm going to trust someone else to prepare my food?"

Rick is somewhat amused. "You worried about someone poisoning it?"

Casey does not find it funny. "With your traditional poisons, no," he says emphatically. "But who knows what bacteria or viruses might infect it if someone else touches it. Or if they'll use natural ingredients. You know, it's been proven that the chemicals in processed food are designed to encourage addiction and obesity."

"That's the problem with government-run agencies like the FDA," Billy chimes in. "You can never trust them."

"But _we're_ part of a government-run agency," Rick reminds them all.

Billy and Casey stare.

Michael almost smirks. "And what makes you think you can trust us?"

-o-

The conversation goes on. From Billy's stories from his rebellious teen years in Edinburgh to Casey's field exploits in Asia, there's not really a slow moment.

But Rick can't help his mind from wandering. He can't stop it. He's always been a thinker. Analyzing and assessing and calculating.

Considering the things that could go wrong. Weighing the possible escape routes that Michael refuses to acknowledge. Envisioning all other possible factors that might hinder their overall survival.

Infection is not a problem as long as Michael's assessment of Ari's return is correct. The lack of food and water is similarly unimportant along that timeline. There is the question of how long to leave on Billy's tourniquet, but Rick supposes it's a tossup between how fast he'll bleed against how long they can control the circulation in the leg. Rick also has some trepidation about leaving their gear in the motel room unattended for so long, but by paying a little extra, they'd guaranteed that housekeeping would stay out.

All of this is incidental, really, as long as Michael is right.

Overall, Rick might have to admit, Michael might be right to be staying calm. If he really knows his asset this well, and all evidence suggests that he does, then the odds seem to lean in their favor for ultimate success and survival.

That is sort of reassuring, and it takes the edge off of the fact that he's locked in a vault with no other viable way out.

Still, Rick's confidence wavers every time he sees the blood on Casey's fingers or Billy's weak smiles.

This time, when he looks at Billy, Billy is looking back at him. "You're worrying."

Rick opens his mouth to deny it, but he soon discovers that Casey and Michael are looking at him, too. He can't control the fact that he blushes. "How can you tell?" he asks.

"You haven't been listening to a word we've said," Casey tells him, sounding bored.

"And you didn't even laugh about my time chasing the Loch Ness Monster, and that is one of my best stories," Billy adds.

"So why are you worrying?" Michael prompts.

Rick considers denying it or at least deflecting it, but he really doesn't see the point. He sighs, shaking his head. "I just don't get how we can be so calm when half the team has been shot."

Casey pins him with a plaintive stare. "Simple," he says. "Bleeding to death isn't the problem."

Billy shakes his head in commiseration. "Not when we're running out of precious oxygen with every inhalation," he says.

It hits Rick like a ton of bricks. It's a fact he hasn't thought of, not even a little.

"Puts things into perspective a bit," Billy continues.

Rick blinks. Once, then twice. He looks around the room, the cement walls, the steel door. He doesn't want to think it's possible. "It's airtight?" Rick asks, silently begging to be contradicted for once.

"Any kind of ventilation system would be a weakness," Michael says. "Ari has kept international secrets in here. It's not a risk he was willing to take."

"So we're running out of air?" Rick asks, even though he knows the answer now, should have known it all along.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Michael confirms.

"Why isn't there an internal failsafe?" he demands.

"If someone manages to get inside who shouldn't be here, wouldn't you want to make sure there was no way out?" Michael challenges.

"You said it was a panic room!"

"Only in a matter of speaking," Michael allows. "It's all a matter of priorities."

"Sure, and my priority would be knowing that if I accidentally got locked in here, I wouldn't have to die a slow and senseless death!"

Michael shares a look with Casey and Billy, before settling a cool gaze back on Rick. "Sometimes death is unavoidable," he says. "But we've already guaranteed that it's not senseless. You'll just have to find some comfort in that, Martinez. One way or another."

-o-

With this new revelation, Rick's calculations take a darker, more desperate turn. He starts by calculating the total volume of the room, then racks his brain back to biology to try to figure out how much air each person might breathe. He considers the average amount of breaths per second and multiplies that by four and really wants to start panicking at how quickly the numbers get big.

Breaking it down, the conclusion is actually pretty simple: there isn't enough air to last until morning. Not with four of them. Not even close.

They're going to die.

This is somewhat terrifying to Rick, who has accepted death as a possible outcome of this career choice, but never expected it to come in this manner or so quickly.

Or with people who seemed so totally oblivious to it.

Instead, his team acts like nothing has changed. They talk in equal turns, sharing stories and jokes. Rick can't bring himself to join them, both because the mood seems entirely wrong now and he is all too aware of how talking just uses up more air than sitting totally still.

"You're thinking too much," Billy says to him finally. He has moving from his slouched position, and his face is paler, but his disposition is still sunny, even though his voice is weaker.

"How can I be thinking too much?" Rick snaps back. "I thought I was supposed to think more. Isn't that what you guys are always telling me?"

"Thinking about the inevitability of impending death is not the kind of thinking we had in mind," Casey advises him. His face is a little sickly now, fingers still clutched around his wound so that his knuckles are perpetually white.

"Well, what else am I supposed to be thinking about right now?" Rick asks, feeling his temper straining against the bounds of his well-honed self-control.

None of them has a ready answer to that. Michael shifts a little. "It's always important to look for ways to fix problems as they come up," he says. "But when there's nothing you can do, obsessive worry won't fix it."

"It also won't hurt," Rick says, a little sullenly.

"You can never underestimate the power of positive thinking," Casey advises him.

Rick frowns. "But you're an eternal pessimist!"

Casey actually looks offended. "I'm a realist," he says. "I don't see the need to whitewash things with undue sunshine."

"A possibly noble trait," Billy concedes from across the vault.

"But I also refuse to accept failure as a preconceived fate under any circumstances, even when common sense might dictate otherwise," Casey continues.

Rick shakes his head. "So what does that mean?"

"That means," Casey says with an exasperated sigh, "that while I fully acknowledge imminent peril and will concede to certain odds, I never submit myself to them. Success in any context is largely determined by state of mind and I have trained myself to not allow my demise to be an option that I consider."

Rick's actually somewhat speechless.

"For me," Billy interjects conversationally, "I simply find it's more pleasant to dwell on the happier things. If I die, I don't want my last thought to be something unbearably miserable."

"Besides," Michael says, by way of concluding the topic, "I find that death is a very impractical detail to plan for. If we die, there's nothing else to worry about, so it's nothing to be concerned about."

It's almost nonsensical to Rick how much logic they're all using, and it's all so ridiculous that he finds he has no means left with which to disagree.

"You're crazy," he says finally, shaking his head. "You're all crazy."

"Right you are, my friend," Billy says, grinning widely. "And it's about time you stopped calculating the odds and just joined us in our joyous insanity."

-o-

After an hour, Rick starts to get drowsy. It's hard to tell if it's from the slow loss of air and build up of CO2 or if the loss of adrenaline is finally getting to him. As it is, he's starting to feel as loose as the rest of the team, so when they continue with their stories, he stops fighting himself from joining in.

"You know," Billy says, still slumped against the wall. He seems to be sinking deeper but doesn't bother to correct his posture as the minutes tick by. The seeping from the tourniquet hasn't stopped even if it's slowed, and Billy's conversational skills are not impeded except by the slow development of a drunken lisp. "I have to admit, if we do perish in here, I won't be without regrets."

Casey groans, scrunching his face up in pain-which is both physical and mental, as best Rick can tell. "And just when we convinced the kid to stop being morbid, you have to go and get started."

"It's not morbid," Billy counters with inalienable good nature. "But I have found myself reconsidering what things I might do if I get out of here in the morning."

"What?" Casey challenges. "Sleep with another Russian floozy?"

Michael smirks a little at that.

Even Billy doesn't seem to take it as an insult. "No, I think I've done sufficiently in that area," he says. "But I would rather like the chance to make things right back in the Mother Land."

Casey makes a face.

Rick looks at Billy curiously. "You mean, fix the thing that got you deported?"

Billy nods, somewhat solemnly. "In my long list of storied accomplishments, that little fact does stand out like a sore thumb. Rather like Casey in proper society."

Casey just rolls his eyes. "You were deported," he says. "Short of bribing someone inside the government, I'm not sure there's much to fix."

Billy shakes his head, eschewing the simplicity of Casey's answer. "It's more complicated than that," he says. "I never saw it coming when it happened and I never prepared myself to say goodbye in any fashion. It'd be nice just to tell everyone my side of things."

"Since they're going to care so much about the story of a disgraced and deported former agent," Casey mutters contrarily. If Rick didn't know them better, he might think they were actually fighting, but Casey and Billy seem to play off each other with a flourish that Rick still can't quite explain. They're something unspoken between all of them, so that the things they say are only part of what they all mean.

"Well, fine then," Billy says, turning his gaze pointedly back at Casey. "What regrets might you care to fix if and when we find ourselves out among the living once more?"

"I don't believe in regrets," Casey replies quickly.

Rick lifts his eyebrows; Michael seems to smile slightly.

Billy pounces. "Somehow I doubt that sincerely, Mr. Two Percent," he says.

Casey almost blushes, though Rick figures if he'd been at full health, the faint color in his cheeks wouldn't have been noticeable. He sighs, though. "Fine," he says. "I can't deny that part of me would like the opportunity to at least let Linda know that I don't regret our time together."

Now Rick finds himself smiling. "She was right," he says. "You do love her."

Casey scowls at him. "Love is an inconsequential term that has been watered down by massive marketing firms across the world."

Billy nods. "Definitely loves her."

"Fine," Casey snaps. "But I'm not the only one left who hasn't shared."

Eyes turn to Michael, who holds up his hands in protest. "You know I don't do the caring and sharing."

"For your team," Billy implores. "We're bleeding for you, man. Have a heart and take a risk with your emotions."

"It's only fair," Casey says.

Rick just nods.

Michael sighs, rolling his eyes. "It's possible that I owe Faye an apology," he relents.

"Ah, the ex-wife," Billy muses. "Though I dare say, it's possible you owe her more than one."

"It was a relationship that would have never worked," Michael says with a quick shake of his head. "But I wish it could have ended better. She's a good woman."

"A good woman, indeed," Billy says with approval. His eyes drift to Rick, and even in his good humor, Rick can see the exhaustion taking hold there. "And what about Rick? The perpetual new guy? What regrets might you like to fix when we finally breathe fresh air again?"

It's only natural that the conversation would come to him. They've all bared their souls more than they normally would, and Rick is not opposed to bonding in the face of mortal danger.

But when he opens his mouth, when he tries to think, he finds himself coming up empty.

He frowns. "You know, I don't know."

"We shared," Casey protests. "Even Michael."

"It's only fair, Martinez," Michael agrees.

"I know," Rick assents, but he shakes his head. "But I really don't know."

"Is it possible that this lad has lived such a perfect life as to leave no regrets?" Billy muses with amusement.

"Or it's possible that he hasn't lived enough of a life to have regrets yet," Casey says. "No risks, no regrets. It's a simple and smart formula."

In truth, Rick's not sure who's right, but he worries that maybe it's a little of both.

-o-

Rick's mind wanders, his awareness threading in and out of the conversation at random intervals. Casey talks about growing up on a farm and Billy shares some of his exploits running amid the streets of Edinburgh. Rick thinks about his own childhood, the years he spent in preparation without ever looking back.

He gave up sports and social events; he forewent friends and dates. But he's exactly where he wants to be, exactly the way he wants to be it. He doesn't want to go back and play soccer or date more. He just wants to be a spy.

It's the end all, be all of his life. Every risk he's taken, every sacrifice he's made, has been for this.

Now that he's here, it occurs to him that he doesn't know what comes next.

Actually, he doesn't know anything.

Except, he hopes, this: "I think I've figured it out."

The team looks at him and Rick is suddenly aware that his comment had no natural preface. Casey looks bored. "You've figured out why Billy should have gotten beat up more often as a child?" he asks, even though it's clear he knows that's not the answer.

Rick can't help but feel embarrassed, and almost wishes that he hadn't tuned that portion of the conversation out. But he doesn't have the attention and there's just not enough air to bother. Instead, Rick shakes his head. "No, I mean, I've realized why I can't think of any regrets."

"And why's that?" Michael asks.

"I've always known what I wanted," Rick says, the revelation settling over him by degrees. "And I've never doubted it. Never doubted anything. The only thing that matters is the goal I'm working toward. Everything else..." He pauses, shakes his head. He looks up at his teammates, feeling vulnerable. "Everything else just never mattered."

"And you think that's a bad thing?" Michael presumes.

Rick shrugs. "All my risks are calculated. I'm always thinking about the life I want to lead so that I'm not really living the life I have."

"Sometimes living is the problem, though," Billy offers. When Rick looks at him, the Scotsman looks weaker than before, a pale shadow of a smile on his face. He's fading, almost right before Rick's bleary eyes.

Casey nods wearily, and Rick realizes he's never seen the other man look so old. "And you forget that most regrets are weaknesses. Spies live in a world of highly calculated risks."

Rick just blinks. His personal realization is hard enough to handle and with the thin air, he's struggling to work through the point of anything else.

"They're saying you may be better off," Michael explains, as if he can read Rick's mind. Which, at this point, wouldn't surprise Rick at all "You only have regrets when you've screwed something up. Maybe you're just the smartest one among us."

Rick stares at him, looks for some hint of deception or sarcasm. But Michael's serious, the steadiness in his eyes as close to compassion as Rick has ever seen. Michael wants him to believe it, and for that, Rick wants to believe it, too.

But he can't, and as his eyes drift back toward the ceiling and Billy breaks into song, he knows none of them believe it, either.

-o-

Billy passes out first. It's hard to say if it's the blood loss or the slow loss of oxygen, but when Casey asks him if he's ever been to Amsterdam in the winter, there's just quiet when there should be a colorful response.

Michael's next to him in an instant, one hand on his face and another on his shoulder. "Billy," he calls, shaking him lightly. "Billy."

Billy doesn't stir under the contact, and his white face remains impassive despite Michael's imploring voice.

Shifting down, Michael turns his attention to Billy's leg, checking the tourniquet before feeling for the pulse in Billy's ankle.

When he pulls back, Michael sighs just a little. "He's out."

Rick's stomach lurches, his chest tightening.

"We'll just make sure we keep an eye on the bleeding," Michael continues, settling back into his position. "Keep the pulse in his leg as strong as we can."

It's good advice that completely misses the point.

Still, none of them seem ready to say it. Billy stays still on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly, long arms draped limply at his sides. In some ways, he looks almost dead already, and it's all Rick can do to keep from shuddering.

"Well, at least we'll finally have some quiet around here," Casey gripes, even though no one believes that he means it.

"Really, he's the lucky one," Rick ventures next, and in some ways it's true. "He gets to sleep through the rest."

"Oh, are we boring you?" Casey asks, sarcastic.

Rick manages a smile. "I'm sure I could think of better ways to pass my night."

Michael takes a breath and lets it out. He leans his head back against the wall. "I'm sure we call could," he agrees.

In the stillness, no one disagrees, and for a time, the only sound in the vault is the labored pull and push of Billy's breathing.

-o-

Stars start dancing in Rick's field of vision and it's all he can do to keep himself from running the numbers in his head. Now that he's clearly symptomatic, there can't be more than a few hours left. With Billy being unconscious, they may be saving some air that way, but not enough to offset their dire need. Adding it all up will just depress him, though, so he tries not to let himself make it a countdown.

Still, he doesn't need to calculate to know this is a bad sign. The problem is that everything is becoming a bad sign.

Billy is still breathing, which Rick counts as a good thing, but it seems diminished somehow. This is the longest he hasn't heard the tall operative talk, and it makes him feel oddly on edge. Casey has become increasingly gruff by contrast, griping and complaining about anything and everything. If Michael is worried, he's not showing it, even though Rick thinks maybe they were wrong about the blood loss not being the greatest risk.

Still, Rick's not sure it matters, and as he sucks in a lung full of CO2 laden air, he really is coming to believe Billy might be the luckiest of them all to miss this part. Not that he wants Billy to die, but if they're all doomed anyway, Rick can't be so sure that Billy isn't actually the lucky one in this. Death by oxygen deprivation isn't pretty, and even if he knows he'll eventually just fall asleep and never wake up, the idea of losing his mind to hallucinations as his lungs labor for oxygen that just isn't there is unsettling to him.

"I think it's time to say goodnight," Casey says out of nowhere.

Their conversation has trailed off, broken by intermittent comments that had no purpose or connection to one another. Still, Casey catches him off guard and Rick looks at the older operative and thinks maybe he's already starting to see things.

Casey is staring at nothing, but nodding quite seriously. "Our air consumption needs to be controlled," he say, and when he looks at Rick and Michael, he's completely lucid. "I'd been putting it off, but I think I should try."

Rick has no idea what Casey is talking about, but Michael doesn't seem phased. "It's entirely up to you," he says.

"I just wanted to let you know," Casey says. "So you're not worried."

Michael nods. "That's very considerate of you."

Rick just feels confused. "Worried about what?" he asks.

Casey turns his eyes to Rick. "Worried when I slip into a coma."

"Why would you slip into a coma?" Rick asks, not because it's a medical unlikelihood at this point, but because Rick has always figured that a coma would be something you wouldn't see coming.

"Because if I put myself into a coma then my anatomic functions will slow down. The bleeding will abate and I'll consume less air, thereby lengthening all of our lives."

This actually makes sense, which is somewhat worrisome to Rick. Maybe the air quality is worse than he thinks.

Still, the logical benefit of being in a coma doesn't explain how or why Casey thinks he can control such things.

Rick shakes his head again, trying to put it together. He fails. "But you can't control a coma," he says, hoping that his teammates see some semblance of reality.

Though, Rick has always suspected that they've always been somewhat compromised in that area, so a little oxygen deprivation probably hasn't changed much.

"Of course you can," Casey counters him. Even after all this time, he's still got one hand on his wound. "It's a simple matter of being aware of your body at the anatomic level. If you are aware of the hormones being passed through your body, you can slow or speed up their production. When that happens, all you have to do is alter the levels appropriately in order to induce a coma. Doctors do it all the time with medication, which is wholly unnecessary for someone who is properly trained."

This sounds ridiculous to Rick, but somehow there's no argument to it. Instead, he asks, "And you'll be able to wake yourself up?"

"Comas are not a suspension of thought, just the diminishing of vitals," Casey replies. "I'll know when it's time to wake up."

There's no doubt in his voice, not even a trace.

"I'll see you on the other side, then," Michael tells him.

Casey nods once, then closes his eyes.

Rick waits for a moment, for something to happen. Nothing does.

Next to him, Michael sighs. "He's done this before," he assures Rick.

Rick looks at him, dubious. "Really?"

"Would I lie to you?" Michael asks by way of an answer.

One nice thing about their situation is that Rick's inhibitions are entirely gone. "Yes," he replies in all candor.

Michael pauses and looks thoughtful. "You're right," he says. "Sometimes I forget that it's okay to be honest."

It's a testament to his growing haziness that he doesn't latch onto the admission. "So is Casey really in a coma?" Rick presses instead.

"I'd bet on yes," Michael says. Then his brow furrows. "And I'd check if my eyesight wasn't blurring."

Rick tries to study him, but finds it difficult. "You know, you may be ready to pass out," he points out.

Michael doesn't seem bothered. "I've been through worse."

Rick's eyes boggle a bit. "How have you been through worse?"

Michael shrugs one shoulder lightly, quirking an eyebrow. "This isn't the first vault I've been locked in where air is running out."

"And how'd you get out of the others?" Rick asks.

This makes Michael think. "I actually don't remember," he says. He rolls his head toward Rick to look at him squarely. "I was already passed out when the rescue came."

"And that's supposed to be encouraging?" Rick asks, incredulous.

Despite Rick's obvious doubt, Michael is still unperturbed. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Rick finds it frustrating that he doesn't have an argument for that.

-o-

It's getting harder to focus.

The room seems to be constantly shifting. The colors fade in and out while the fog grows around the edges of Rick's vision. When his eyes move, everything seems to be in stop motion photography. Rick knows because his sister used to try it sometimes and he'd never understood the appeal.

He can barely see Billy and Casey anymore, but he sees enough of their outlines to know that they're not moving. He can't tell if they're breathing or not, but for some reason he trusts that they are.

Next to him, Michael is still awake, his body slumped down against the wall. Rick can hear him breathing despite the growing roar in his own ears.

He doesn't know how much time has passed; his calculations seem trivial now. Dying in five minutes is no different than dying in twenty, and Rick knows he's not supposed to think like that, but he really can't control much of what goes on in his head at the moment.

As it is, time seems to slow down. Every breath is an eternity, a long and labored lifetime. It's all Rick can do to keep his eyes open, and the only reason he bothers is because he's scared of never waking up.

Michael is not one for conversation, and Rick can't decide if that's a blessing. With Casey and Billy's storytelling, it had been easier to forget the severity of the situation. With Michael's silence, his brain is left to its own devices, which Rick decides is not actually ideal.

So when Michael speaks, for a second, Rick actually thinks it's a full on hallucination.

"I'm sorry," Michael says again, more adamantly this time. He's looking at Rick with such naked earnestness that Rick is convinced that he's imagining it.

Rick blinks, trying to get his addled eyes to focus. "Are you talking?" he asks.

"I'm apologizing," Michael clarifies, his voice sounding slurred. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah, of course," Rick replies, trying to sound serious, which is remarkably difficult at this point. "I just thought I was hallucinating."

"That's okay," Michael says with a knowing nod. "I think I may be, too."

Rick can only nod back. "Is that why you're sorry?"

Michael shakes his head, rolling it against the wall. "No," he says with a ragged breath. "I'm sorry you're here."

For a second, this makes Rick want to cry. "On the team?"

Michael's nose scrunches up. "In the vault," he says, lifting one hand to gesture wildly. "I'm sorry you're all here."

"You know, I'd tell you it's not your fault," Rick says, trying to sound assuring.

Michael nods. "But it is."

"Yeah, it sort of is," Rick says. "But we all came willingly."

"I know," Michael says. "Which I'm even more sorry for. I ask all of you to risk your lives, and you never hesitate."

Rick doesn't know what to say to that. Instead, his head lolls and he stares blankly at the impenetrable vault door, trying to remember life on the outside.

"But we're going to get out of this," Michael continues, with more confidence than before.

Rick turns his head back to Michael with a snort. "Billy and Casey have passed out," he says. "And we're both experiencing severe effects of oxygen deprivation and carbon dioxide poisoning. We're going to be dead within an hour."

Michael doesn't even blink. "We're going to get out of this."

Rick is gaping in earnest now. "And how can you tell me that?"

"I live a life of doubt," Michael tells him. "Skepticism killed my marriage and every other significant relationship I've ever had. This doubt has kept me alive and helped me complete over one hundred missions for the CIA. But you can only practice doubt if you have a few things that are solid. Inalienable. Everyone needs a bedrock. And for this team, I refuse to believe in anything less than total success, no matter how unlikely."

Rick is breathless just listening to the monologue. Michael's chest is heaving when he's done, a new sheen of sweat on his face. "It's a long shot," Rick says. "One in one thousand."

Then Michael looks at him again, and even in the growing dimness of his eyesight, Rick sees the certainty there with an unparalleled clarity. "We don't a thousand ways to succeed," Michael says. "We just need one. When it comes down to it, I don't care about risk assessment when I know that much. I regret a lot of thing, but I'll never regret that."

Rick doesn't have the mental capacity to dispute that. He doesn't want to anyway. "I want regrets," he says. His eyes light up. "Hey, maybe that's my regret. That I have no regrets."

"That's a dumb regret."

Rick's shoulders fall. "But it's all I have."

Michael shakes his head. "You have regrets," he says.

"How do you know that?" Rick asks.

Michael sighs. "Just think about it," he says. "Think about your life. Think about being given the chance to do one more thing. If you could make one more risk-just _one _thing before you die. That's your regret."

Rick tries to think about that, he really does. He thinks about the risks he's taken and the risks he's calculated against and tries to come up with something concrete. But his vision is almost gone now, and there's nothing left to hear. His breathing seems to ease and reality shifts away and the stillness pervades him at last.

-o-

When Rick wakes up, it's looks around with bleary eyes and for a second, it's hard to see. But somehow it clears, like an oasis on a foggy night, and Rick can see with a newfound clarity.

They're still in the vault. Casey's hand has slipped clear of his wound and his head is tilted to the side. Billy's long legs nearly stretch across the entire vault now, a puddle of blood now noticeable on the floor next to him. Even Michael is asleep now, propped up against the back wall in a sitting position with his eyes are closed.

Rick takes a breath and feels it start to cloud his vision again. The CO2 content must be overwhelming by now; in fact, he can't be sure this isn't a hallucination.

Still, Rick tries to check his watch, but finds he can't move his arm. Can't move anything anymore. The dimness is settling in again, and he's drifting back toward unconsciousness even as he tries harder to cling to awareness.

It's almost over now, and in his mind, he does the math. It must be almost dawn, and it's almost over.

He thinks of Billy's life back in Scotland; he thinks of Casey's feelings for Linda. He thinks of Michael and Faye; Michael talking about his bedrock. He thinks about doing one more thing, one last thing.

There's his mother and his brothers, his friends and his teammates, but there's nothing he needs to say to them that they don't know already. There's a lot he wants to do, but nothing he needs to do that will change anything between them. His family knows why he's living this life; his team knows that he'd die for them as readily as they'd die for him.

There's more than that. There has to be more than that. It's more than the family who raised him and the CIA future he's building. There's an empty apartment and a pretty girl with a bright smile. It's hard to know what it is between him and Adele; harder still to know if he should make the next move. One more thing, he thinks. One last thing. There are a thousand reasons it's not the right time to start an office romance, but he doesn't need a thousand reasons to bother. He just needs one.

Morning is close, but Rick's not sure it's close enough. What he does know, is that this is all almost over. One way or another, it's almost over.

-o-

The next breath Rick takes, there's air.

Not just recycled CO2 saturated poison, but _air_. Fresh and new and _real_.

Rick takes another breath, lets it fill his lungs and his consciousness jolts. With a gasp, he opens his eyes and finds himself staring at the vault's ceiling.

Despite this burgeoning awareness, Rick is still having trouble moving. He jerks his head to his side and sees that Michael is gone.

"We're going to need medical assistance," Michael's voice comes from somewhere. "Do you think we can find something off the books?"

"Of course," comes the reply. From the heavy accent, Rick recognizes Ari.

Rick breathes again and tilts his head toward the voices. In the new dimensions of his vision, he sees Michael crouched over Billy, Ari on the other side. "Easy, easy," Michael coaches, and together, he and Ari lift Billy by the arms and start to pull him clear of the room. Billy's head falls back limply and his legs trail after him, a smear of blood marking his wake.

When they come back, Michael meets Rick's eyes and smiles. "What did I tell you?" he says, coming closer.

Rick blinks, wetting his lips and working saliva back into his throat. "We're alive," he croaks.

"And already on the mend," Michael assures him. Behind him, Ari and another man have come for Casey, carefully moving him out of the vault. "Once you get some more fresh air in your system, you'll be up in no time."

Rick lets out a breath, barely able to believe it. "It's impossible."

Michael tilts his head.

"I did the calculations," Rick tells him. "Even with a generous margin of error, we never should have made it."

Michael looks a little disappointed. "Risk assessment is important but only valid to a certain extent in the field," he says. "You can never underestimate the power of the human factor, even in impossible situation."

Rick just shakes his head and wants to laugh. "I can't believe it."

Michael just smiles, patting him on the shoulder. "We all had one thing left to do," he says. "We all wanted that opportunity."

Rick lets his eyes drift back to the ceiling and this time he laughs in earnest. "One more thing," he says. Then he looks back at Michael. "What was yours?"

"Simple," he says. "I wanted to make sure I saw all of you get out of this alive. Mission accomplished. What about you, Martinez?"

Rick just laughs again, and lets the joy of being alive be enough for that moment.

-o-

It's not a hospital but Ari's home is comfortable and well stocked. The doctor comes to visit them in regular intervals and only two days go by when all four of them receive permission to travel.

Rick thinks it might be a little premature. Billy can barely walk and Casey's movements are still limited, but somehow Rick knows they've had worse before.

"If we don't go soon, I'm going to have to start rewearing my clothes," Casey gripes that night.

"Ari's wife has offered multiple times to do your laundry," Billy reminds her. "Poor woman has been hanging around us, desperate for some way to offer her undying gratitude."

"And have her wash the whites with the darks? I don't think so," Casey says.

Billy seems to accept that. He's settled against his headboard, looking at the plate of food on his lap longingly. "I must admit, while it will be nice to be back in Western culture, I think I will miss the exquisite dining options."

Ari and his family have been extremely accommodating in all regards. From medical attention to food, Rick hasn't felt this doted upon since the last time he visited his mother before joining the CIA.

Still, there are some gnawing doubts in the back of his mind about the trip home. "So what are we going to tell Higgins about what we've been up to?" he asks.

"You assume that we plan on telling him anything," Billy says with a wry grin.

Rick pauses, pushing at his own food with his fork. "But won't he be curious?"

"Of course he'll be curious," Michael counters from across the room. He's seated at a desk. "But with no friendly casualties and the decommissioning of an up and coming terrorist group, he'll be happy just to know there are no strings left to tie up."

"Besides," Casey interjects from his bed, "worrying about Higgins is by far the least interesting way to pass the time."

Rick resists the urge to roll his eyes. "So what would you suggest I think about then?"

"You just had a near death experience, lad," Billy reminds him. "Surely that makes you reassess your priorities just a wee bit."

Rick finds himself blushing almost inexplicably. In the days since their rescue, none of them had broached the topics of conversation they shared as they night wore on. Rick has half hoped that maybe none of them remembered besides him.

"Unless you still have nothing to regret," Casey muses.

Rick shrugs and tries to shake his head, hoping to divert the flow of conversation.

He should know by now that he's nowhere near that lucky.

"Come on, Martinez," Michael cajoles with unusual frivolity. "What one last thing did you think about when the air was running out and the dark was closing in?"

They're all watching him, with equal intensity. Billy looks amused; Casey looks determined. Michael just looks like he knows the answer already.

Rick feels flustered. "It's...personal," he says.

Casey rolls his eyes. "It's a woman."

Billy hoots. "Little Rick fancies himself a girl!"

Rick shakes his head and wants to protest but finds himself lacking. The jokes come hard and heavy for a while, and even though none of them mention Adele by name, Rick knows they probably figured it out long before he did.

Later, when Billy has had another dose of painkillers and Casey has allowed himself to fall asleep, Michael says to him in the darkness, "The thing with regrets is that having them is healthy only if you follow through. You can be defined by your risks or your regrets. It's your choice."

Rick breathes out and doesn't know what to say.

"And you can always find a new last thing," Michael advises him. "Don't let your regrets win."

Rick doesn't reply, but he doesn't need to. He stays awake until Michael's breathing evens out and there's only stillness in the room.

It would be easy to brush it off, of course. Really, Rick's not even sure where he stands with Adele or if things even have a chance of working out between them. He doesn't exactly have a lot of dating experience. More than that, he's still new to this job, and he knows he has a lot to prove and even more to learn. If he wants the career he's always imagined, it will take dedication and work. He's never allowed himself much room for anything else in this pursuit.

But he's never had a team like this before, either. A team to back him up, a team to support him. A team to keep him on the right path even when he doesn't know which way is up or down. No matter what mistakes he makes, his team will be there.

This is his bedrock, he thinks.

He doesn't regret the things he's given up so far. But he thinks he might regret the things he's giving up now if he doesn't take a chance on something that he's always deemed superfluous.

Rick's waited long enough and he's played by the rules all his life. The ODS, this mission, this team has changed him in this: he knows now that some risks are worth taking. Not because they're safe or guaranteed to pan out, but because they just are.

When Rick finally falls asleep, he has a smile on his face because he knows what he'll be risking when all of this is over.


End file.
